


Singularity

by Marigold_Magpie



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Borderlands 3 - Freeform, F/M, Multipart, calypso twins, future smut, troy calypso x reader, troy/reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-15 09:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18495844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marigold_Magpie/pseuds/Marigold_Magpie
Summary: Here you were more or less doing everything you did before; just no longer under the illusion that what you did was completely benevolent.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More Troy content because I've lost all control of my life.

It was a strange and beautiful thing that they had built; you weren’t sure if you believed what they preached completely, but you had heard about what happened on Pandora and what sort of terrible and powerful creatures lurked in the Vaults. And you supposed that even before that the Vaults were just a myth, something that mercenaries and bandits chatted about, in hopes the riches foretold might be true. So perhaps there was some truth to what they said. Nevertheless what they had built was something to marvel at.

Some of the followers were just local rabble, backwater folk with nothing to lose; not two cents to rub together and even less in their heads. Others were people looking for revenge, something dark in there muddied pasts that left chips on other shoulders. Still others were once people of power and status, some even from the the upper-middle echelon of Promethea, you thought they were the most curious out of the bunch. Rich uprights that decided to run off and an play Zealot in the dust because they were bored.

Then there was a small handful; you guessed that you fell into that category; people that were just there, somewhat unsure of why they were there at all really. Perhaps just to get away from everything else, the corporate world, the rat-race.

You had worked for the revivified Atlas Corporation not six months ago before you came out here; urged on by a fellow work colleague who…did not survive the journey. Not your first bitter taste of the harshness of life, but the first in a long time.

You couldn’t go back at that point either, having stolen (well you designed them but they were considered company property) designs from Atlas and brought them along on your little less than stellar journey. You had found yourself in a tight spot and not a lot of choice in the matter.

You arrived at the hub of the Children of the Vault, tired, grimy and banged up. They had been somewhat wary of your arrival and interest in joining; you didn’t really have a good reason either. Stammering over “My friend that got eaten by wildlife said I should come.” and “I just needed something…I’m not sure.”

Despite your strange introductions you slowly managed to integrate with the riff-raff and to be honest you had found that you felt more at home here than you ever had behind the glimmering walls of the main city. You found others that shared common interests with you, and an honesty that was hard to come by in corporate world. What’s more you found that other engineers and scientists had come to the hub; not a lot, but it interested you that people of science had integrated themselves in a …well… a cult.

As it turned out that a lot of them were a little strange and some downright batty, but they were…’good’ people -you weren’t even sure if you could use that word anymore for your company. At this point you probably couldn’t even use it for yourself…

The nitty gritty of it was, for every follower you helped fight the good cause, meant you helped kill someone else…but you suppose you did that with Atlas as well, it was just never so transparent before.

You used to tell yourself that you specialized in robotics, that those weren’t weapons. That had been three years ago when you had just gotten out of college, bright eyed and bushy tailed and naive. It didn’t matter that you were making robots or prosthetics, those could all be weapons; and and they were. When you left to brave the Promethean landscape you got to see first hand how your designs had been used.

And here you were more or less doing everything you did before; just no longer under the illusion that what you did was completely benevolent.

________________

You’ve been working on fixing and old loader bot model for what felt like the past millennia; you weren’t even entirely sure how got to Promethea, let alone all the way out here in the badlands. Though you had seen stranger things.

The three other engineers you usually worked with had already left for the night; eager to get out of the ‘Labs’ as you called it and enjoy the night. You were tempted to go along with them at their gentle but poor persuasion. You just wanted to get this thing done so you could be rid of it once and for all. So you stayed, tinkering by yourself.

Huffing you stare at the inert thing before you after another hour of fiddling with it. Tapping your foot on the ground in frustration, you start going over everything you had already tried and everything left to test.

Working on the hunk of metal, hadn’t been easy, you were starting to run low on supplies, and some of the electrics that had been salvaged earlier in the week had been damaged in transport.

You work your jaw and glance over to the bin of electronics you know works, and then over to the heap you lovingly called the ‘turd pile’, of absolute junk the last salvage team had brought in. You supposed the welders would just end up using most of it.

As you ruminate on your task an awful grinding reaches your ears, metal on metal; wincing you turn your head pressing your ear to your shoulder as you try to drown out at least half the sound.

It gets louder and now it’s not just metal grating on metal, it’s grating on your nerves; still you try to ignore it; fairly certain it was either one of your colleagues trying to annoy you, thinking they were funny or if you were lucky more salvage coming in. 

It stops abruptly and you breathe a sigh of relief and continue your cross referencing checklist. It starts up again a moment later and you fume; you have a fairly good idea what colleague it is and you are ready to give them a piece of your mind. You try to hold it together, hoping that the noise maker would get bored and realize that they aren’t getting are rise out of you (even though you are ready to bite off their head). However your patience is already spread thin from the hunk of yellow scrap in front of you.

You cave.

“Listen you rat bastard, I swear, when I get this thing working I’m going to have you be the first thing it guns down!” you turn and in your anger you throw your wrench.

You pale as it’s caught before it collides with the visitor’s forehead.

It isn’t your co-worker, and it’s not the salvage team…no…It’s the Calypso, Troy Calypso.

You are certain at the this moment in time you are going to die; you wonder if he’ll dispose of you quickly or slowly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning into more of plot before we get to the porn, oops.

You knew it was rude to stare, especially at someone that was pretty much worshiped as a God; and had just about as much power. But you were frozen, the only thing moving was your heart and that was beating so fast you were sure it was about to burst free from your chest. Were you even breathing? Could you remember how? If you sank into the floor now you wouldn’t have to worry about breathing ever again; well if Troy killed you you wouldn’t either…

You realize that you arm is still arched from throwing the wrench that he’s still holding; quickly you pull your arm against your side.

“Errrrr…” the words are not coming to you and you sway on your feet.

“I take it I am not the rat bastard you were thinking of?” he looks amused as he twirls the wrench in his flesh and blood hand.

“No-no, the rat bastard is my colleague…he likes to make a lot of noise to annoy me…and just annoy me in general; no you are not the rat bastard.” you’re rambling and you know it but you can’t seem to stop.

He hums and goes to move towards you, you do your best not to flinch. That’s when you realize what the horrible grating sound had been it was his arm.

You’d only ever seen it at a distance but that didn’t stop you from marveling at it. It was primitive, and oversized, it was glorious; an absolute machine. You had kind of wanted to observe the mechanics of it in person, see the inner workings; but you don’t exactly walk up to someone and say “hey your giant machine arm is super cool, can I look at it?” well at least you wouldn’t do that to someone like Troy.

But from the looks of it, it was now severely damaged, lower half just below the elbow hanging limp on dangerously stretched thin wires; The knuckles and fingers dragging along the floor.

“Um…your arm is kinda falling off.” that comes out more blunt than you wanted and you bite your tongue.

He lets out a bark of laughter and glances down to the appendage.

“So it is!” he says, his gaze shifts to you, it’s sharp and appraising and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise; not in a purely fearful way either you hate to admit. “You work on robotics?” he nods at the Loader Bot.

“Yeah…I swear this is not my best work.” you say looking back to the machine.

The racket starts again and you turn to find the Calypso striding over to you; even with his ruined arm he looks, elegant, imposing…

He stands unnervingly close to you and now you can really feel his heat, he’s a behemoth before you, in stature and presence.

He cocks his head as he continues to observe you, as if parsing something together; you briefly wonder if you have something on your face (it wouldn’t be the first time; usually it was grease).

“You’re the Atlas runaway.” he finally says

You shift, wondering if maybe that was a bad thing. Both he and his sister seemed to have a general distaste for the corporate giant.

“Yes sir.” you reply, doing your best to steel your nerves, he suddenly breaks out in laughter, a deep sound than rumbles in his chest and you feel your face heat up.

“Sir, ha!” he manages through his moment of humor. “Don’t think anyone has ever called me sir!”

“Well, I mean…you’re you!…A Calypso!…what else should I call you? My liege?” you mean it as joke, but the sharp sudden heated gaze his pins you with, makes your stomach flutter and your knees suddenly feel weak.

“Mmmmm, now that I wouldn’t complain to.” his lips quirk into a sly grin and oh! His canines are sharp, sharper than they should be.

“Well I’m not sure about that.” you stammer, trying not to let him know how much he was effecting you. He probably teased all of his followers, goad them to see how much he could make them squirm. “Why are you even down here?” you hope that doesn’t sound rude.

“Well you see, my arm is falling off, I don’t know if you noticed.” he replies smartly and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Came to get some tools then.” you assume that he knows full well how to take care of his arm; or at least has someone who knows how; a personal mechanic.

“Actually one of the weapons specialists …what’s his name…Kirk?”

“That rat bastard…” you didn’t mean to say it out loud, and your teeth clack together when you realize your interruption.

“Ah so he’s the rat bastard.” he chuckles and continues “Well the rat bastard told me that there was an Atlas tech down here that was good with robotics, and knew her way around prosthetics.”

“Uuuuuuhhhh, there is another Atlas tech that works down here too.” you find it hard to believe that Kirk would give you any sort of compliment…though maybe he was just trying to get you killed.

“Y/n then?” oh…that was definitely you then.

“Uh yeah that would be me then.” you reply.

“Perfect now that we have that sorted out, I need your help.”

You look at him in disbelief, wanting to slap yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming but quickly realizing that’s not a good way to make an impression.

“You need…my help?” you repeat wanting to make sure you heard him right.

“You have dust in your ears?” he teases but is obviously getting a little worn by your questions. “Usually I can take care of this myself, fixin’ it up and everything. But as you can see It’s kinda royally fucked up this time…worse than I’m used to and the last guy that did extensive work on it…might be a little dead, sooooo.”

Well that was reassuring.

You go to open your mouth and question him again but think better of it, looking around, you find a mostly stable chair without wheels and you drag it over to your workstation not far from the Loader Bot, you motion him to come over.

God the sound really was horrible.

“Music to your ears right?” he chuckles when he notices the pained look on your face.

“Oh yeah, something like that…” you reply, beginning to collect all the equipment you think might pertain to what he needs.

As he gets comfortable; as comfortable as one can get on a metal chair with no padding and bad back support you suddenly realize …you’re his personal mechanic, at least for now.


End file.
